


By the Side of Holy Rivers

by Shiny_n_new



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian Era, British Raj Era, First Meeting, India, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_n_new/pseuds/Shiny_n_new
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thousand miles from home, Bruce finds familiarity in the strangest places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Side of Holy Rivers

Bruce didn't like being in India.  
  
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He loved the wild portions of it the best, the lush green forests and wide, lazy rivers stretching on forever with parrots screeching and monkeys cackling. The jungles were exactly like Alfred had described in his bedtime stories. And Bruce found the Hindu religion fascinating; he'd watched several ceremonies, doing his best to be unobtrusive, and he'd found the whole thing to be so interesting compared to the sermons he'd grown up with. Though Bruce supposed that if he'd plopped an Indian down in the middle of service in London, he or she would have been equally fascinated. The unfamiliar always had an allure.  
  
The Indians themselves were equally fascinating. Bruce had heard the stories told by some of his countrymen, sneering about savages and a total lack of civilization, and as usual, his countrymen had been speaking complete nonsense. He'd found the Indians to be a polite, friendly people, always willing to offer a meal or pass along a warning about Thuggee bandits lurking the roads. That was, he supposed, part of the problem. If he'd found the Indian people to be disagreeable, he might have felt better about the look on Alfred's face when he read the letters from his friends in India. He might have felt better when he heard about the famines, the plagues, the millions dead all in the name of expanding the Empire.   
  
He might have felt better, but he didn't think so.  
  
The cities were the worst. They reminded him too much of London: overcrowded, people begging on the streets, dirty water and rats the size of Corgis. At least in London he could try to make a difference. Here, he was just like all the other guilty nobles, turning his head away after dropping a few pounds in some beggar's dish.  
  
Bruce didn't like being in India, and he didn't like what his country was doing in India. If he'd had a choice, he wouldn't have come here. But Lord Luthor had invited him, and their families were old allies, even if his father hadn't been able to stand Lionel Luthor; even if Bruce wasn't particularly fond of Alexander now. They'd been friends in school, but Lex appeared to be following in his father's footsteps with abandon and Bruce wanted nothing to do with it. Still, he couldn't politely refuse the invitation, so here he was, in India.  
  
Worse yet, he was on the back of an elephant. He, Luthor, and several other lords and dignitaries were supposedly hunting, though Bruce had taken the bullets out of his rifle fairly early in the trip. He wasn't fond of guns, or hunting, or, as it turned out, elephants. The one he was riding had given him the evil eye when Bruce had approached it, and he'd glared right back. Three hours later, he wasn't any fonder of the beast. It kept tossing its head, like it was trying to knock him off.  
  
Their guide, a young man named Agrim, brought them to a halt. The elephants needed to rest and drink, and it was apparently time for a break. Bruce slid off the back of his elephant gratefully, ignoring the way it prodded him with its trunk as he was walking away, nearly knocking him over. He was not going to get into a fight with an animal. Not particularly eager to relax in a clearing with the rest of the lords (he'd been trying to ignore their conversation for hours. Sitting next to them wouldn't help that), he laid down his gun and told them he'd be exploring the jungle a bit.  
  
"Be careful, Wayne," Luthor called out, raising an eyebrow.  "Here there be tigers and all that."  
  
Bruce snorted and kept walking. They hadn't seen so much as a deer the entire time they'd been on those blasted elephants. A tiger seemed unlikely.  Once he was far enough away that he couldn't hear his companions' chatter, Bruce paused and stared around him, drinking in the sight of the jungle with relish. It was gorgeous, the bright sun peeking through the broad leaves and casting wild patterns of light and dark along the ground. In the distance, he could hear birds calling to each other, their songs unfamiliar and melodious. He couldn't help but smile. He stretched, bending over backwards to work the kinks out of his spine. When he righted himself, he was face to face with an actual tiger.  
  
As it sprang forward, Bruce screamed and tumbled backwards. Its shape blotted out the sun as it bore down on him, and Bruce's only thought was, _Damn, Luthor will be so smug once he hears about this_. He closed his eyes instinctively, hands in front of his face for all the good it was going to do him, and waited for the end. And waited. And was understandably very startled when he heard a voice say, in Hindi, "Bad cat. What have I told you about hunting around the English?"  
  
Hesitantly, Bruce opened his eyes, wondering if this was some kind of hallucination. A white man dressed in Indian garb was holding the tiger by the scruff of its neck like it was a misbehaving housecat. He appeared to be lecturing it.  
  
"You have kittens to feed, and how are they supposed to survive when people hunt you down and shoot you for being a maneater? Bad tiger. Bad! Now go home!" He tossed it gently and the tiger landed gracefully a few feet away. It looked between Bruce and the potential-hallucination several times, snarled at them both, then turned its back and walked away, as if to say 'I meant to do that'.   
  
The man smiled, then glanced down at Bruce. His eyes widened as he met Bruce's confused gaze.  
  
"Oh," the man said, in accented but very clear English. "Ah. I thought you were unconscious. This is awkward."  
  
  
An hour later, Bruce was sitting across from the man (whose name was Clark, of all things) in a market on the outskirts of the city. Their hunting party had retreated from the jungle after Bruce's encounter with the tiger, and gone to the market for food on Agrim's suggestion. Bruce was sipping his tea slowly, watching as Clark dug into his curry with delight. He was eager to question Clark about just what in God's name had happened in the jungle, but he was stymied by Luthor's presence beside him, watching Clark like a hawk. He knew Luthor, knew the way Lex liked to collect oddities and run experiments. Mentioning that Clark could fight a tiger barehanded wouldn't end well for the young man.  
  
"So, Clark, it seems as though you might have an interesting story," Lex said, slinging an arm around the back of Bruce's chair. Bruce's eye twitched. "How did you end up in the middle of the jungle in time to rescue Wayne here?"  
  
"Oh, my village isn't far from there," Clark said. He smiled at them both amicably, casting a glance in Bruce's direction that was almost too quick to pick up.  
  
"Your village? You live with Indians, then?"  
  
"I am an Indian, sir," Clark said. "Adopted, obviously, but I've lived with my parents since before I can remember."  
  
"Really?" Lex tilted his head in interested. Bruce did not like the way he was staring at Clark. "How in the world did that happen?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Clark said, setting aside his curry. "My mother and father found me wandering around on the outskirts of the village, barely old enough to walk. They assumed I belonged to someone, obviously, so they contacted the authorities, but no one claimed me. I actually stayed in an orphanage in this city for a while, but the people running it began to think I was bad luck." Clark smiled and shrugged. "Things do tend to break around me. Anyway, my mother and father asked if they could have me back, and I've lived with them ever since. They named me 'Clark' at the orphanage, and I guess I was already responding to it, so my parents decided not to change my name. It's not that interesting a story, really."  
  
"I disagree," Lex said, smiling. "Where do you-"  
  
"Luthor!" one of the men from the hunting party yelled. "Luthor, come here!"  
  
"Idiots," Lex hissed quietly. He turned back to Clark, smiling again. "Well, Clark, it seems like we owe you Wayne's life. If there's anything either of us can to do repay you, please, just ask." With that, he was gone.  
  
"I noticed at no point in your life story did you mention gaining the ability to pick up tigers without getting a scratch," Bruce said coolly.  
  
Clark blanched. "Sir, please, don't-"  
  
"Oh, don't worry, I won't tell anyone." Bruce smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "I'm just curious. You aren't the first person I've met with extra-ordinary abilities, believe me."  
  
"Really?" Clark seemed interested for reasons besides nervousness for the first time since Bruce had met him. "I've never met anyone like me. No one in the village or the city, anyway. My parents told me I appeared in the village right after a meteor shower, but beyond that, I've never been sure how I can do the things I can."  
  
"Just what can you do?"  
  
"Ah, well, I'm very strong, and I can run fast. It's very hard to hurt me." Clark was obviously not telling Bruce everything, which was smart. He had no reason to assume Bruce had his best interests at heart.  
  
"Intriguing," Bruce said. "I've never met anyone like you either. I know a man who can move faster than you can blink, a woman with control over plants, and a man who can breath underwater, among other things. But none like you."  
  
Clark smiled at him, and Bruce was struck by how lovely he was, as lovely and bright as India itself. He shook his head, telling himself that now wasn't the time to be mooning over some pretty boy with powers that Bruce was likely never going to see again. Clark seemed about to speak, before he cocked his head to the side and squinted, like a hunting dog hearing prey.  
  
"I have to be going, sir," Clark said.  
  
"Call me Bruce, please," Bruce said, impulsively. Clark smiled a little wider.  
  
"I have to be going, Bruce. But I'd like to see you again, to talk more about these people you know. Where are you staying?"  
  
Bruce gave him the address of the lodgings he'd taken in the city. Clark nodded, then got up from the table and hurried to the nearest alley, where he disappeared from sight. There was a sudden gust of wind, then nothing. When Bruce went to check on him, Clark was gone. He apparently hadn't been lying about being very fast.  
  
  
Bruce was lying in bed that night, hovering on the edge of sleep, when there was a knock on the door of his balcony. That alone was a little alarming, but it became more alarming when he considered that the only way onto the balcony was through his room. Warily, he got to his feet and opened the door. Standing there was Clark, looking incredibly bright in his reds and yellows.  
  
"How did you get up here?" Bruce asked. "I'm on the third floor."  
  
"I can also jump very high," Clark said cheerfully. "I may have forgotten to mention that. May I come in?"  
  
Bruce stepped aside without a word. He was used to being up late, so he set about making some tea and put on something besides his pajamas.  
  
"You like the color black," Clark observed, looking up from his study of the books Bruce had brought with him.  
  
"It's a good color. Can you read?"  
  
"Not English, sir."  
  
"Call me Bruce." He handed Clark a cup of tea. "Is it safe to assume that your village is not within walking distance of the city, then?"  
  
"Not most people's walking distance anyway," Clark said, grinning.  
  
They sat down and were in deep discussion about the time Clark had run all the way to Southern Africa when there was a commotion outside. Bruce darted to the balcony, spyglass in hand, and looked for the source of trouble. There. A few blocks down, a gang of men had surrounded several beggars, apparently intent on harassing them. Bruce narrowed his eyes. He really, really disliked bullies, and he couldn't just sit in his room now that he knew someone was in trouble.  
  
"Clark, if you'll excuse me for just a moment," Bruce said, re-entering the room and pulling on a set of boots he had stashed under the bed. "I'll be right back."  
  
On the way out the door, he grabbed a black scarf and wrapped it around his face, obscuring his features and leaving only his eyes exposed. Scaling the rooftops was even easier here than it was in London, and in seconds, he was headed towards the gang. He hadn't brought his entire suit from London, since he hadn't assumed he'd need it, and he felt very exposed as he took a running leap onto the leader of the gang.  
  
Exposed or not, the gang of half-drunk men weren't nearly skilled enough to challenge him in a fight, and after just a few minutes of being tossed into garbage piles and alley walls, they scampered away. The beggars they'd been attacking stared up at him, wavering between gratitude and terror. He simply nodded at them and made his way onto the rooftops once more. Hopefully, Clark wouldn't be offended by how long he'd been gone.  
  
When he returned, black scarf safely tucked away in his pocket, Clark was staring wide-eyed at him.  
  
"What in the world was _that_?"  
  
"I, ah, just remembered that I needed to finish a letter, and-"  
  
"Do noblemen in London often break up street fights?" Clark interrupted, raising an eyebrow. Bruce gaped at him, and he added, with a small smile, "I can see very far, and also through things. I may have forgotten to mention that."  
  
Despite himself, Bruce had to laugh. He pulled the black scarf out of his pocket ruefully. "It's not my usual style, but I'm a long way from home."  
  
"And what exactly do you get up to at home?"  
  
"I'm not sure if the news ever made it down to India, but a few years ago, there was a nasty individual attacking women in the Whitechapel district," Bruce said, sitting down on the couch with a sigh. One of the men had fish-hooked him in the kidney, and it ached already. "It was the talk of London for months, but once the intrigue died down, so did any police and public interest in keeping the poor safe. It didn't sit well with me, nor with several other lords. We put together a league of sorts to try and keep everyone in London safe, not just the ones who can pay for it."  
  
"And so you and your lord friends fight crime every night?" Clark asked.  
  
"We aren't all lords anymore, and yes, essentially." Staring at the scarf, Bruce realized in had ruffles along the edges. He cleared his throat. "I'm usually more intimidating."  
  
Clark laughed, but the humor drained from his face as he stared at the side of Bruce's neck. "You're hurt!"  
  
"Hmm?" Bruce brought his fingers up to the side of his throat. One of the men had aimed a broken bottle at his head. Bruce had assumed it missed him entirely, but apparently it had actually grazed him. There was a shallow cut along the side of neck, harmless but very bloody. "It's nothing, don't worry."  
  
Clark leaned over and touched Bruce's neck worriedly. Bruce blinked, alarmed, and told his body to behave itself. Still, with Clark so close, Bruce couldn't help but be entranced, leaning into his touch a little. Clark turned to say something, but paused, apparently just noticing how close their faces were. His eyes narrowed, amusement dancing in them.  
  
"You're very interesting, sir."  
  
"Call me Bruce," he said, mortified when his voice came out rough and a little breathy.  
  
"All right, Bruce," Clark said. His eyes dropped to Bruce's lips, and he closed the distance between them, kissing him gently.  
  
It was not the most passionate kiss Bruce had ever recieved, nor the most skilled, but it was definitely the best. With a growl, he pulled Clark down until the other man was half on top of him  
  
"Thank goodness," Clark said, laughing a little as he kissed Bruce again. "I was worried all the staring you were doing meant you thought something was wrong with me."  
  
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you," Bruce growled, before doing his best to keep Clark from thinking at all.  
  
Perhaps Bruce could stay in India a little longer than expected.


End file.
